


Big Mess

by katisdelicious



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is...
Genre: 70s AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:29:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katisdelicious/pseuds/katisdelicious
Summary: It is 1978 and William has isolated himself from the world all because of Pete Wentz and somewhat Gabe Saporta.
Relationships: William Beckett/Gabe Saporta, William Beckett/Mike Carden





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used Midown instead of Cobra Starship as the band name because it fits the 70s vibe better. I also used The Academy without the is... for the same reason.

It is the year 1978 and I am way out of the scene.

Folding my fingers around the curtains, I take a peek outside. The sun is going down and the streets look empty, though they're always empty around here anyway.

The sky leaves a pink tint in the scene of my bedroom behind me. With that, I sigh.

I want to go back to the Spring of '76 where I could do anything I wanted without the fear of judgment. _Shit_. I would die just for that feeling back.

I drop the soft curtain in front of my face, blocking the view of the outside. As I make my way towards my empty king sized bed, the red robe that covers me falls down to the carpeted floor beneath me.

My eyes close as my head hits the pillow. Sleep is the best. When you want to forget, but you don't want to give everything up, sleeping is the best option. Don't get caught up in the thought though, then you may be sleeping forever.

_Ring ring_

My head shoots up as the sound of the phone ringing knocks me from my—almost—sleep.

I hate that sound. The sound of the phone ringing is displeasing. In my head, it is the sound of hatred and disappointment. Nothing good ever comes from the phone.

_Ring ring_

I grab the body of the object and I groan before answering, "Hello?"

"William Beckett?" The voice sounds unfamiliar.

I try to sound polite as I retort, "Yes. This is William. And you are?"

"Shit. It is you huh?" There is a short pause before the man behind the phone continues, "It's me, Pete Wentz. Remember me? Your old manager?"

The corners of my mouth fold upward at the name, but I continue to give him attitude because ever since last year, I've lost all trust in the man, "What do you want?"

There is no response right away and unfortunately what he gives me is off putting, "To see you. I think we need to talk."

As tempted as I am to slam the phone back down onto it's holder, my hand forces the thing to stay pressed against my ear, "What?"

"I know that I ruined your life and I wish that I could take it back. The only way I can at least stop feeling guilty is to talk to you."

"My life is not ruined, Wentz. I am perfectly fine. I live in a very nice— _may I add_ —large home in a great neighborhood," I scratch my nose before almost whispering, "I don't want your pity. I know that you'd only apologize for your own sake, then continue to fuck up my life."

I can practically see the face Pete is pulling behind the phone. His lips are pressed together, creating a perfectly straight line and his eyebrows are furrowed. I can hear it in his voice when he speaks, "What do you mean?"

"It's a cycle, man. Don't act like you didn't fuck me over twenty times before the last straw," A venomous tinge adds to my voice, "I don't want to see you."

"Please?" He almost sounds sincere.

I slam the phone down onto the bedside table, like I said, the phone is bad news. Whoever made the thing forgot to list me in their 'pros and cons' book.

A deep sigh escapes my mouth when I pull my blankets closer to me in order to get comfortable.

My mind wanders, remembering the last time I had seen Pete. I remember the day perfectly—well almost.

It was somewhere in June of 1977 and I was touring America with my band: The Academy. We were currently in Las Vegas.

Normally in Vegas, I'd be out and about, drinking, and doing all that shit, but not that weekend. I was having an 'off' week, something just felt different.

So, I relaxed instead. Hell, I had the best time. Yeah drinking and fucking around is fun, but relaxing? That is way more fun.

And of course, my dear friend Gabriel Saporta had drunkenly told Pete about the time(s) we fucked. It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but I couldn't really trust Mr. Wentz.

I'd known about his love for attention and money, and that in the first place is why I wanted him to be my manager because obviously that would give us money and attention. Little did I know, he would use me and my band for his needs.

He took what Gabe had told him and he decided to tell a magazine the news. They took his words and twisted them. They wrote, and I quote:

_An insider let us in on William Beckett, singer of 'The Academy' and Gabriel Saporta, singer of 'Midtown's secret gay relationship. Isn't that scandalous? The ladies will have to move on from their beloved Bill Beckett and find a new man to drool over._

There are a few things wrong with this statement, let me dissect it for you:

1) Gabe and I have never been in a relationship - _ever_

2) Where did they get 'secret' from?

3) The insider in this story is Pete Wentz and I wish the public had known that and who he was

The worst part is that they didn't even mention Gabe besides the fact that we were 'in a relationship'. Well, his band wasn't really as big as The Academy had been.

The girls really took this statement and dragged me down. Our fans turned on me as soon as they heard the news. I would get dirty looks from guys in other bands. It was almost like being bullied in high school, but this was real life.

I confronted Pete and he said that there was nothing wrong with this because it was putting more attention on the band, so we would get more popular and more money. This however backfired for him because we lost a ton of fans to the lie.

Even at press conferences they would ask about it and tell me it was disgusting even though I'd deny the rumors.

It was almost like nothing happened to Gabe though, he was still in the same position. His band is still going on anyway. It didn't affect him the same way as it did me. It was unfair, but it wasn't his fault.

Gabe apologized many times when it wasn't his fault. I felt so bad for him.

Then on July 23, I decided that I could not take this bullshit any longer. I told Pete that the band was over. I didn't even get to see my own band members, I had Pete break them the news.

He stood up and pointed at me, "You can't do that!"

I grabbed his index finger and pushed it away, and being taller, adding some extra power, Pete flew backwards, "I fucking said that it's over, Wentz! I'm going home. Tell the rest of the guys."

I glanced over one last time at the guy who was struggling to get back up after I'd pushed him. He had furrowed brows and flat lips.

I flew home that night and that was that. I don't write music anymore, I just sit in my home and mope. I haven't even spoken to any of the other guys after.

Our band was very popular though, so I'm still making money off of the songs being it is now August of 1978.

The memories are awesome though.

They still linger.


	2. 2

The sun wakes me up in the morning. That is how most mornings work.

I glance at the clock, 7 AM. It is quite early but yesterday I'd decided to get to sleep early anyway.

The robe goes back around me as I make my way to the bathroom. I brush my teeth, take a piss and stare at my lovely face in the mirror.

It's a shame that my fame was useless and short-lived. I guess three years is a long time actually.

My eyes fall down to the sink where hair cutting scissors lie. Why are they there? I don't remember, but I pick them up and make them clank. Then I do it a few more times, each time, I move closer to my actual hair.

Maybe I could use a little change?

I stare at the shoulder length locks for a good two minutes before the scissors are cutting about two inches off. Eventually two inches turns to three and my hair falls at the bottom of my ears. Newly cut bangs hang over my eyes.

I like it. It is short, but not too short and long but not too long.

Placing the scissors down, I make my way out of the room and now into the kitchen. Breakfast isn't really too important so I just pour myself a bowl of cereal.

I can just tell by looking outside that it is beautiful out, so I take my breakfast with me and eat outside.

Man, I was correct.

The warm breeze throws my newly cut hair around my face and the temperature is just right for a nice walk. Maybe later. I can hear the crashes of waves in the distance and the birds yelling at each other.

I waste half of my morning eating cereal and enjoying the outside.

_Ring ring..._

God dammit.

I swear to God if that is Pete Wentz.

"Hello?"

"Bill. It's me, Pete again. Please come visit me. I can fly you out to Las Angeles, I will pay and everything. Just come for at least a week," The man behind the phone pleads in one breath.

"Someone's desperate," I emphasize the T.

To be honest, I am slightly enjoying the distressed Pete. Maybe I _will_ fly out to LA and have him pay for my ticket. Maybe I can give him a hard time while I'm there or something so he never wants to see me again.

Pete continues talking, but I ignore him. I forget that he's speaking and I interrupt, "Fine. Fine, I'll come out to LA."

I can hear the excitement behind the phone, "Seriously! This is awesome, Bill! I'm so excited!"

I can't hold back a smile. Pete is a fun and awesome person, but he has too many major problems that take the fun away—like his constant need for attention.

—

It's two days later, and now I'm in an airport. I haven't really gone anywhere far from my home in a year, so this is weird. Usually it's just then grocery store and some nice, long walks.

I enjoy being alone though.

I sit on a chair and grip my suitcase tightly while my eyes stay focused on the floor. I can feel a few people staring, but it's almost like they forgot about me and they're just trying to put a name to my face.

"Hey!" I hear from a distance.

My head jerks up and I spot a man pointing right at me. What the hell? I quickly gaze down again and keep my head down.

His footsteps are loud as he comes towards me.

"You're that faggot right?" He hovers over me.

  
I wince at the language he used towards me.

Why does he have to do this? Why do people feel the need to point this out? Why can't people just mind their business? This is why I don't go out. People suck ass.

I ignore him and he asks again.

"Can you even hear me, fairy?"

God, I wish I never left my house. Something has already gone wrong, who knows how badly the rest of the weekend will go.

"Nope. I am deaf," I speak, keeping a monotone voice.

He chuckles and then he gets serious again, "You are fucking disgusting. You know what you are doing to the world? Man and man don't make families. You're influencing other guys and it's gross. Why don't you just kill yourself?"

With that, he's gone. Thankfully, he didn't harm me in any way besides with words. Is that what people think of me now? I'm disgusting? Damn..

When I get on the plane, I have a seat alone. Not many people are taking this flight, but again, I was famous, so when I didn't get to fly on my own, I would choose a flight that I knew would be empty. I just used what I know to get my way.

I step out of the thing and make my way into the airport. I'm expecting to see Pete's face, which I do.

He's sitting alone but he has a stupid smile on his face. It looks evil and he doesn't even see me yet.

I walk right before him and he jumps, "Did you not see me coming down the stairs, Wentz?"

His eyes light up and his stupid smile becomes a wide grin, "Shit! This is fucking crazy," He pulls me into an uncomfortably tight hug, "It's been so long since I've actually seen your face!"

A fake giggle escapes my mouth as Pete breaks the hug.

"Yeah. It's been.. some time."

"Woah! You got a hair cut!" He grabs the ends of my hair and feels the shortness of it.

"It's not that different," I comment.

"Not that different? You had woman length hair before! Now you have what normal hot guys have."

That kinda hurt.

"Okay, let's leave."

"I got you a hotel room near my place," He speaks as he drives.

"Alright, cool."

"Hey, are you okay? You seem anxious," Pete taps his fingers against the wheel to go with the music.

"What do you think?"

"No seriously!"

Is he _that_ stupid? Maybe I should tell everyone that he is gay and see what he thinks.

"No shit I'm anxious! I haven't been to LA in a whole year. People are fuckin mean here, dude."

"I guess," He shrugs, "But almost everyone is gay here so you're fine."

I glare at him, "You fucker."

—

  
One thing I remember about Las Angeles is this small coffee shop in a small part of the city. I would go there whenever we were in LA because the coffee is amazing.

Luckily, my hotel room isn't far from the café.

I step out into the cold, night breeze of LA while many cars speed past me. It is insane how beautiful, yet crowded it is here.

For it is seven o'clock at night, not many people will be in a coffee shop—perfect.

I open the door and a bell chimes as the warm familiar smell of coffee hits. I glance around and the place looks the same with its dark red walls and old wooden floors. There are a few tables and only three people sitting inside.

There is a woman and a man sat across from each other, looks like they're on a date. At a coffee shop at night? Hm. At the other table, a woman sits reading a book and drinking coffee.

I love it, it takes me right back.

"Hello, hello! What may I get you today, sir?" The cheery waitress questions. The poor girl, she's working in this sad excuse for a coffee shop on a Saturday night.

She lightly tilts her head at me, not light enough to not notice though. She probably knows who I am, but won't say anything.

I order my coffee and debate sitting inside of here or going back to my hotel room. I take a look around once more, really taking in the emptiness of the place... I'll just go back to my room.

My legs move and I'm out of the place. Every time I look the sky, it gets darker and it's getting colder as well.

There are quite a few people walking around, it's normal though because I'm in LA. My eyes follow the cars as they pass by and-

"Shit, my bad. Sorry."

Suddenly my coffee is all over my shirt,"Oh, i-it's okay."

"I can buy you another one if-"

"No, don't worry. It's okay really! My hotel room is-"

"Bill?"

I look up from the ground as I hear my name, afraid of who that could be.

Oh shit.

"Mike?"

"What are you doing here?" He says with a smirk. What is that smirk about? I want that off of his face.

"I.. I'm.. Wentz wanted to see me," I murmur.

"Speak up, babe."

"Pete Wentz wanted to see me," Mocking him, I talk loud and slowly.

He snorts at me. He fucking snorts at me, "Why? So he can fuck up your life?"

I sigh, "I don't know, man. He really wanted to see me though."

"When did you get here?"

"Today, actually. I'm staying for the week."

He blinks with his blue-gray eyes. Since when did he have such cool eyes? Then the damn smirk comes back, "Well shit. You're obligated to spend one of those days with me... I wanna catch up."

"Alright. I need your number."

His brows furrow, "Just look in a phone book. You'll find me."

With those words, he's gone.

I stand there, kind of shocked. What the hell just happened? I haven't seen Mike or even thought about him since last year. But, as always, his mannerisms still irritate me. I don't understand why, but if.. I don't know... Sisky or Butcher smirked at me, it wouldn't bother me. Mike though? There's just something about him.

Damn.. I haven't seen any of those guys in a while.

Anyway, Mike and I use to write together, but we would always argue. It was what kept us going though, weirdly enough. We were so close, but as we got more famous, we somewhat drifted apart. And it's funny because we were in the band _together_!

I've never once had a moment with him that was just like "shit, we made it". Now I want that moment, but it can't happen.


End file.
